Note: This is Part 2 of my post regarding our travel to Jogjakarta and Solo as part of the Familiarization Trip sponsored by the Indonesian Tourism Ministry. You can read Part 1 here.

It’s 31st July, 2016.On this day,I can’t be solo in visiting Solo. I need to have someone with me to help me understand the different narratives and epics of the Solo kingdoms, the Sultanate, and the Sunanate. I can’t properly take notes of interesting rules in the past while visiting the Mangku Negaran (Sultan’s Palace), like those that have to be followed when the wife or husband is away from their homes. ​​

​I was told that in the old days here, one way for the Sultan to restrain himself and avoid committing sins when away from his wife is by sheathing his phallus. Likewise when the wife is away, she’d put a covering plate on her fanny too. Those sheaths and covering plates were not ordinary. They were made of heavy gold with different designs and shapes.

1st August 2016. Earlier, the organizers told us we were going to Mount Merapi. I thought there was going to be heavy rain as the organizers gave each of us raincoats. I didn’t actually mind the rain. How heavy it would be, I had no idea. In my mind I was only thinking about the mountain and the villages we’d pass by going there. ​I quickly tied my head with my kandit siyabit, a Suluk weaved shawl, before going inside our jeep. I also took jamu, a herbal tonic very popular in Indonesia. There are different kinds of Jamu. I chose the one for muscle pain and drank it with sugar syrup because it was too bitter for my taste.

From the city, it took us about an hour to reach the villages at the foot of the mountain. Along the way, we passed by the Alien Stone (a rock that looks like an alien) and took some photos for souvenir.

Alien Stone (Locals say this stone behind me may have come from the sky)

​We then tried the siomai sold by locals before heading to the Sisa Hartaku, a mini-museum that reminded us of the mountain’s last eruption in 2010. ​

Sisa Hartaku Mini Museum

​The museum is actually an old house with a collection of belongings from people who used to live near the area. I felt sad imagining how it must have been during the deadly eruption. How people must have ran to save their families. How they must have rushed to save the last of their animals and belongings. At the museum, I saw among the display some houseware, utensils, skeletons of cows, even a molten clock which showed the dials frozen to that day of the eruption, a reminder that from then on, time in this village would be divided into two: before and after.

Found an old bike and some animal bones in front of the Sisa Hartaku

​Going back to the city, we passed by the Merapi River. We had to cover ourselves so we won’t get wet as the jeep was crossing the river too fast. Now I know what the raincoats were intended for.

2nd August 2016. Dawn had come. It was time to go the airport. It was hard to go, but I told myself this is not the last chance for me to be here.​As we waited for our flight to Jakarta, my phone buzzed. I grabbed it and typed some words. They were not goodbyes, because I don’t recognize goodbyes. I just wanted to save my words of happiness and thanks to the people who were instrumental in bringing us near their hearts during this Indonesia Familiarization Trip. I continued sipping black coffee in a small, white cup. Brother Lano Lan and brother Ruzaini aka Ahmad Dhani II were sitting near me beside a square, white table while looking at the runway where different planes passing by every minute.

I said in Malay, “God willing, we will meet again. There are many stories that we need to share together.” The reply in Malay came very fast. “Definitely, definitely, Brother. History is the past. Let’s do a new story.” And I said, “A new story is coming, Pak”. I was no longer expecting a reply from Pak Ruben as I knew he needed sleep, having flown directly to Jogjakarta after catching up with his work in Batam Island. He has not had sleep since he arrived. But he promised to be with our group for this trip.

No goodbye

As I enjoyed my last few minutes here with friends from the Indonesian Tourism Ministry, Pak Ruben, Mas Bondan, and the team of event organizers, Mbak Vian, Mas Eka, Pak Wisnu, and Mas Fitri, the team from Indonesia Consulate General, Kota Kinabalu, Pak Widodo, Ibu Wulan and Pak Daru, I realized that another page filled with historical moments had been carved on pages of my tiny notebook. I need to cuddle these memories and inscribe them in my bosom for future journeys ahead.

Before the flight took off, I thought of writing a poem. And I did. Please help me by reading gently, word by word, while I sleep quietly before arriving at Kuala Lumpur. I wrote. I am now asleep. Stop listening. Don’t move. And take hold. Here’s the poem:

I don't recognize the phrase "goodbye".I really don’t.Upon departing from the place I go,I avoid “goodbye”Saying such word is the saddest thing to do.This wide ground is but a symbol.A signal that I will be here again.Again and again, I will come.I will return.The historical and cultural visits are waiting.​I love you, peace. Let's sail together. Layag Sug!

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